168. Venice, the city of small superlatives

I visited Venice a few days ago. It was, because of coronavirus, much emptier than usual. And, as a result, much more enjoyable than usual. Not that I usually do not enjoy it. It is an amazing city. Beautiful, delicate and evocative of a bygone World, a time when the will of a few men, the Dogo and his court, could create the almost unthinkable. Venice doesn’t make sense as a city, it is so precariously squeezed less than a meter above its lagoon, claustrophobically filling every available square inch of every island, traversed by so many canals that the only sensible transport is a boat. And it is its defiance of all logic that makes it completely special, utterly unique, so unlikely to be repeated for its impracticality, and timeless, as its concept does really not belong in the modern World. That alone makes every instant you spend in it exceptional, a moment to be savoured at a different pace. You must visit Venice at least once but, more importantly, you must live it at least once

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